A Condition Known as 'Having a Heart'
by FrUKing Awesome Canadian Hero
Summary: When the Avengers appear on his doorstep three weeks after his operation to have the Arc Reactor removed, Tony isn't keen on their new place in his life. But between battles - against the remaining Extremis volunteers, and among themselves - they're filling the hole in his chest. When Steve is kidnapped, it's the last straw; Tony Stark must have a heart, after all.
1. The Invasion of Stark Tower

**A/N: WOOHOO! I DECLARE MYSELF OFFICIALLY BACK! FIRST CHAPTER, BITCHES! I've been working on this idea for a couple of months now, and now I am infinitely proud to present you with the first chapter of my very first Avengers chapter fic! Many thanks to the awesomazing Dancing Eyes, who's my sort-of-unofficial beta at the moment. Without her, I believe these first two chapters would suck. Because I suck at writing Steve. BUT ANYWAY. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE CAPS LOCK BUT I'M SUPER-EXCITED RIGHT NOW.**

**Read on, my fellow fangirls (and boys, must not forget the boys if there are any-)! Reviews are always appreciated; I can always use advice on how to keep things rolling, but for now, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Three weeks after the operation and nearly two months after activating the Clean Slate protocol, Tony opened the front door to find Hawkeye, Thor, Black Widow and _Golden Boy _Captain America, complete with baggage, standing on his doorstep.

One blink; two. Tony regarded them for the second it took to process that all the Avengers, not including the already-present Bruce, had suddenly turned up at his equivalent of a house. He didn't hesitate to open his mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped almost immediately, eyes trained particularly on Steve, who scowled darkly.

Clint stared for a moment, then shook his head in disbelief. "You don't _know?_" He shouldered the backpack that had rested beside him on the ground, grabbing his precious bow and arrow. "Okay, that's it," he announced resolutely, starting forward. "We're moving in." He shoved past Tony and into the first-floor front hall of Stark Tower.

"What the—?" Tony spluttered, grabbing him by the arm and trying to force him back outside. Clint caught his wrist, glowering dangerously.

A sigh from Natasha; she lifted her bag easily and crossed her arms, a contemplating look flitting across her face. "You really don't know why we're here, do you?" she muttered with a tone of slight amusement, and Tony let out a bark of humorless laughter.

"For reasons other than tormenting me, you mean?" he snapped sarcastically. "Oh please, do inform me about this matter of utmost importance."

Natasha rolled her eyes slightly, fingers tapping agitatedly against her arm. "It's _you_, Tony. That's why we're here. If you can't seem to keep yourself out of trouble, you need someone with sense who can."

"Oh, and you all plan to be those someones?" Tony snorted dryly. "Tell me, what were you doing, exactly, while I was almost getting my face ripped off by Aldrich Killian and his band of flaming mutant freaks?"

"That's not the _point_, Tony—"

"And you tell us what you were doing when you destroyed Iron Man." The frigidity in Steve's 'Captain' voice broke into the conversation like a knife.

He stepped over the threshold, glaring down at Tony and holding his stare with defiance. Tony cursed the lack of a few extra inches, sneering up at Captain Fucking America with as much venom as he could muster.

"I _am_ Iron Man," he murmured dangerously, simply daring anyone in the room to defy him. Steve didn't waver. "Your suits are gone," he said, taking another step forward. "Their power source is gone." He threw a critical downward glance at Tony's chest, glaring at the vacant dark place where the Arc had used to lie.

Shit shit _shit;_ Tony forced his gaze to stay locked vengefully on Steve, smothering the beginnings of terror stirring in his chest.

"You're exposed."

_Not now._

"There are people who want to kill you, and whether you've called it a day or not—"

_Sinking deeper and deeper into frigid, airless darkness—the shocks of a battery streaking through his body to light his nerves on fire—_

"—they're not going to relent."

_Flashes of battle—Pepper, not picking up his final farewell call—falling aimless through space, into the freezing vacuum—_

"You're unprotected."

Steve's voice was painfully clear, Tony vaguely aware that he was stiff as a board, fists clenching, gaze wavering downward.

"And until you can stop making impulsive decisions like this, we're staying to keep you safe whether you like it or not, Stark."

_ Breathe. In, out; in, out. Breathe._

"Tony?"

Steve's harshness had faded slightly, and the floor slid out from beneath Tony, world churning and making him stumble. He couldn't stop gasping—his chest was too tight, the hole where the Arc had been eating him alive beneath the stitches. His heart. His heart was gone.

He grabbed at his chest—it wasn't there. The suits weren't here. His pulse rushed in his ears, eyes forced to stay open, seeing nothing, until a sudden warm hand on his shoulder jolted him into reality long enough to catch a flash of Steve.

"Tony, you're fine. We're here. You're fine."

Blue eyes, Tony noticed. Blue eyes like Pepper's, but purer.

The rest of Steve's face wavered into focus through the sea of black spots, and Tony bit his lip, feeling like a child, forcing his breathing to slow just in time to hear Pepper's heels clacking and warm arms thrown around him.

"Shh..." she breathed softly in his ear, holding him close and running hands through his hair.

"I took the liberty of alerting Miss Potts of your situation, sir," JARVIS' cool voice informed him. Tony let out a shaking breath, feeling Pepper's warm floral scent wash over him, and holding her tight.

"Thank you, JARVIS," he murmured into her hair. Her small hands still held him close as she buried her face in his neck.

Another few moments of heavy silence, and finally, Thor shook his head.

"Friend Tony, we are moving in," he declared, and everyone nodded solemnly in agreement. Steve looked a bit shaken; Clint jumped when the elevator gave a loud ding and the doors slid open to reveal a worried-looking Bruce. Stilted, uneasy laughter broke the sacred silence as the Avengers hoisted their bags and stepped in through his front door.

Tony didn't let go of Pepper to stop them from getting their way.

It was awkward—the moments between when the front door shut behind the Avengers, and when Pepper gently pushed at Tony's chest, alerting him to the world around them. He nodded, whispering something in her ear, before finally pulling away and turning to face his teammates. Thor looked oddly sentimental, Steve and Bruce varying degrees of awkward, Clint smiling that shit-eating grin, and Natasha standing mildly at his side, ever unreadable.

"Well, that'll be all, Miss Potts," he announced loudly to the stiflingly quiet room. Pepper smiled cryptically, starting back for the elevator.

"Of course, Mr. Stark," she replied over her shoulder, cracking the haze of strained silence and magically injecting the room with a sense of warmth before the doors slid shut with another ding, and the brief comfort vanished with her.

"So," Tony started again, clapping his hands and glancing around. "JARVIS can show you around, and you can each have your pick of any of the suites on the guest floors. I'll be in the shop, so have fun and don't kill anyone or break anything that looks too important. _Adios_."

And with a brief sarcastic wave, Tony was gone.

Steve wondered briefly if he was actually the same man who'd had a rather horrendous panic attack right in front of their eyes only minutes before, then simply shook his head and decided not to burden himself with attempts to understand the anomaly of a human being that was Tony Stark.

And thankfully, he wasn't the only one to jump a foot in the air when JARVIS spoke again; everyone did but Natasha and Bruce, but even he looked a bit startled as the smooth voice began emanating from the walls.

"Shall we begin the tour, sirs and madam?" he inquired, and Bruce nodded after a moment, recovering himself after the many events of the past fifteen minutes before leading them off for the sweeping grand staircase that spiraled up through the heart of the tower itself.

It didn't take long for Steve to realize that while the guest floors of Stark Tower had most likely been used occasionally whenever Tony felt like throwing a party and a bunch of strangers passed out in his rooms overnight, they had never been truly _lived in_. The suites were sprawling and luxurious, each with a different theme; while the others generally picked something flashier, save for Bruce's quiet, simplistic space full of equipment and empty of too many possessions, Steve's suite had pale yellow walls and a warm red-white-and-blue American flag bedspread. Clint had teased him until Natasha's comment about his own neon purple walls sent him into an abrupt silent sulk. The companionable quirk of her lips made Steve smile slightly in return.

Though the halls had seemed cold and unwelcoming a couple of hours before, by the next time Steve poked his head outside, that had already begun to change; a bright red stray sock had found its way to the center of the floor, Clint's occasional crash or swear echoed faintly from down the hall, and Natasha's quiet footsteps trailed in the telltale patterns of unpacking in the room directly above his. Thor's door stood wide open and he stretched out comfortably on the couch, in plain view, chatting conversationally with JARVIS.

After at least three hours of on-and-off assistance from the strange supercomputer in the ceiling that called itself an 'AI', Steve still couldn't decide if he appreciated the sleek disembodied voice, or whether its smooth accent unnerved him.

On the floor above, where Natasha and Bruce resided, the opening and closing of doors and pacing of footsteps and rising and falling of voices was enough to bring a quiet half-smile to his lips.

He had watched the ever-suave Tony Stark have a panic attack. He'd moved into an enormous skyscraper with a downright ugly exterior design, with five new people he'd never actually properly met. He'd managed to come up with the idea that their presence would somehow discourage Tony from making any more stupid decisions to piss off Fury and endanger his own life, completely of his own accord. And even after this entire catastrophe, he still somehow managed to process it with relative ease. Being chucked seventy years into the future, it seemed, effectively widened one's mental capacity just a bit.

Steve chuckled, and shook his head in spite of himself, wondering for the first time in quite a while, what exactly he thought he was doing. Seriously, what was he getting himself into? Within a week the Tower's inhabitants would most likely all be brutally murdering each other, anyway.

In that case, they might as well have a final meal before their fate was decided.

* * *

Tony was far more shaken than he let on.

He lay sprawled across the couch, blueprints for a new design of earthquake-resistant bridge open and pulsing softly on the tablet screen in front of him. Dark eyes watched them vacantly, mind streaking through broken fragments of equations and new concept references to examine.

It had been years since his fingers had fallen still on the screen and he'd sat making repeated attempts at work, for at least a couple of hours, without a single bit of progress.

He was going to murder them all.

The presence was just too much—the triggered memories, Steve's voice digging at them like he was intent on killing him through terror, and on top of it all, there was no refuge from the faint sounds of inhabitants and the growing signs of life. Bruce, Tony could handle. Quiet, brilliant, unintrusive scientists he could handle. Legolas, Capsicle, a Nordic God, and an assassin, not so much. He was, quite frankly, fucking _scared_ that one of them would slit his throat while he slept.

Tony let the tablet fall, closing the blueprints and massaging his temples against the incredible distraction of the Avengers' near-undetectable, but still all too loud moving-in noise. His chest ached with a ghost of the Arc's comfortable warmth and thrum where the stitches now dug into his skin.

Warm hands settled gently on his shoulders, and Tony hummed quietly, leaning back into Pepper's gentle, massaging touch.

"I'm gonna fucking die with them here, Pep," he groaned, shaking his head.

Pepper just chuckled softly, shaking her head and leaning down to whisper to him gently. "You'll get used to it, Tony," she murmured. "You've put up with me all these years; you can do it for them, too."

Another groan, and Tony dropped his head onto the table in defeat.

"But you're _you_," he sighed, opening one eye to watch her. "You're the incredible Pepper Potts and you manage to put up with _me_, too!"

Again, Pepper laughed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You know what? You need friends more than you think. It'll be fine."

"I really fucking hope so," he muttered under his breath, returning her kiss briefly, before slamming down his stylus and retreating to his workshop.

He needed some time to think, and food was not worth the trouble of interruption; Steve didn't manage to get them all to eat together that day. Or the next. Or the next—until sometime Thursday morning, when Tony had dozed off at least twice, mind racing and a collapse from exhaustion inevitable.

That was the morning Steve came down to the workshop smelling of bacon and saying something about the Avengers being called to assemble.

He eyed Tony for a moment, expression calculating and utterly unreadable beyond that. "But without your suit... well, Fury wants you to keep an eye on things from here."

Fury wanted him on camera duty.

_Fury wanted him on camera duty?_

"_WHAT?_"

Tony had never been awake faster in his life.


	2. Hulk Not Like Lava Things

**A/N: I do not know the names of the streets surrounding Central Park, and I'm way too lazy to look them up, so you're gonna have to bear with me on that one. In other news, more flowers and cookies to Dancing Eyes for her wonderful input, and this chapter is a lot longer than I anticipated. Actually, the entire plot line is turning out to be a lot longer than I anticipated. When is anything I write _not _longer than I anticipated? *cue face meets desk***

**Anyway, here, have another chapter. This is the end of the pre-written chappies, but the third one is in the works, guys! **

* * *

"What?" he demanded, shooting straight up. "_What the fuck?_"

Steve didn't even waver, watching Tony closely. "Fury wants eyes in the sky, and seeing as you can't fight, that job has fallen to you."

"And what if my eyes don't fucking feel like replacing Fury's patch?" he snarled, advancing on Steve. He didn't back away, but something behind his eyes softened.

"Tony, I know this is—"

Tony cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Uh, no. No, you don't. You don't know one fucking thing about me, so for Christ's sake quit acting like it."

He choked back the panic at the notion of standing by while the others went down, being forced to do nothing but watch their annihilation, while he was locked away, _safe_. Because he no longer had the suit. Iron Man was part of him—and that part of him was gone. Vanished. He was worthless without it.

Steve was still watching him with that unreadable look, but it was no longer soft—it had gone cold as steel. "You think I don't know?" he murmured. "Trust me, Stark, I know what this is like for you. You're alone, right? Alone without the suit. That was the best part of you—"

"And without it, I'm no hero," Tony cut him off coldly. They were nearly nose to nose now, glaring daggers at each other.

"That's not true," Steve snapped. "That's not what I was going to say."

"I know what you think of me," Tony laughed humorlessly. "Don't deny it, Rogers."

Steve gritted his teeth, watching as the man turned his back. He couldn't watch Tony do this to himself. "Damn it all, Tony, only a hero would sacrifice himself for New York," he hissed, starting for the doorway. "And that hero can stand the torture of keeping his teammates safe for _one battle_." Steve stopped in the doorway, turning to glare daggers at Tony, who sneered right back. "You _are_ Iron Man, so start acting like it."

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the glass, and Tony swore after him until Steve's footsteps had faded up the staircase and the silence was ringing in his ears.

And then he grudgingly shoved the pile of unfinished Stark Industries paperwork off his desk, fingers tapping rapidly over keys as he linked up the systems to the satellite network he'd been hacking since high school.

"JARVIS, get me online with the SHIELD comm link, will you?" he prompted, still fuming, as a rough satellite image spanned over the screen before him.

"Will do, sir," JARVIS answered, and just as the live-action image spun into motion, Tony's fingers flying to code it into smooth clarity, an explosion of conversation burst into the lab, echoing slightly off the walls.

"—waiting for Stark, he'll be her—"

"Channel audio to the headset and encrypt the stream," Tony commanded, and Steve's voice muted until the second he slipped on his earpiece, adjusting the mic and glancing to the screen before him, zooming down toward the city.

"Caw caw, motherfuckers," Tony greeted, smirking at Clint's indignant squawk of protest.

"What the fuck? That's my line! Nat, he stole my line!"

Steve's sigh of sheer annoyance was unmistakable. "Hawkeye—"

"Yours?" Tony taunted offhandedly, taking vindictive pleasure in indirectly pissing off Steve even more, still absentmindedly zooming closer on the satellite video until the streets were in clear view. "I didn't see a copyright anywhere, Legolas."

Thor sounded confused when he spoke, and Tony couldn't help his dry chuckle. "Copyright? That is—"

"Shut up, Thor!" Clint cut him off. "Tony's just being a bitch, you don't have to copyright something to own it."

"Did I really just get called a bitch by a_ little gay elf_?" He snorted. "Please. If we held a contest for whose panties were the most bunched-up, Capsicle'd win by a long shot."

"Just can't resist a good jab, can you, Stark? Make your wounded ego feel a bit more sufficient?" Steve snapped, and Tony laughed.

"Wounded ego? Who's got the _wounded ego_? We all know it's true, Rogers."

"Um, guys—" Bruce tried to cut in, but Natasha got there first.

"_Boys!_" she snapped, and immediately the comm fell dead silent.

"Thank you," she finally sighed after a second, and with one more click, Tony could see her shaking her head at the corner of Fifth Street and Main. Thor stood at her side, looking equally dismayed with the bickering.

"We've got a bit of a problem here," she said dryly, then looked up, as though she knew exactly where Tony was watching from. "Triangulate to eight blocks south, five east and I think you'll see what I mean."

"On it." Tony's fingers were tapping again, Natasha's coordinates landing him smack at the center of Central Park.

"...Oh."

"Precisely," Steve cut in dryly. "Stark, you've fought with these things before; there's four of them, five of us, so most of us are going to have to go solo. How do they operate?"

Tony fell silent for a moment, deep in thought as he watched the AIM agents sprinting across perfectly-groomed grounds. The Avengers were waiting—minus Iron Man, who was stuck in a fucking cave, completely unable to help if it was needed. He shoved the thought away.

"They're completely regenerative," he said after a second's thought. "The only straight-up way I managed to kill one was by getting it in the heart. They've got the whole third-degree-burns-if-touched thing down perfect, and they're strong enough I could hardly phase them even with my suit. Bruce, get green anytime now, 'cause you're going to need it."

Silence over the comm, as the four AIM creatures seemed to pick up the pace even faster, tripping civilians on their sprint through the streets. Finally Steve's 'Captain' voice broke it, and Tony was almost glad when it did.

"Hulk and Widow, you're the team. Thor, you stick on the ground and be sure you've got no shortage of blades on you; Hawkeye, get on the rooftops and cover whoever needs it. I'll stay here on the ground with Thor; we need to keep the fight as corralled as possible, just in case somebody decides to blow up on us. Tony, keep us up to speed. Let's keep this as short and sweet as possible. Go!"

"Caw caw, motherfuckers!" Clint bid them a smug farewell, and Tony blew a raspberry into the mic.

A few clicks and he was zoomed-out enough to survey the entire area, standing from the desk and switching the screen to his empty worktable, enlarging the picture even further and bringing another keyboard to life at his fingertips.

"Talk to me, Tony," Steve ordered, and Tony glanced over the screen, watching the AIM creatures close in for the kill.

"Coming at you from one block out—one from the east, the other three from the south."

"Half a block. Get ready, they're out for blood—"

He could hear it when they finally hit.

Almost immediately, the wind was knocked from Steve's lungs, the sickening crack of Thor's hammer on skull loud enough to be heard over the comm. The Hulk was raging, but he had to mute Bruce's comm link because of the roaring (Tony would have to work on a way to equalize that...), and Natasha was smashing her elbow into one agent's jugular—when it came away her suit was seared completely and her flesh was tinged pink. She smashed him in the gut and he hardly even flinched.

The AIM agents fought with lethal eloquence—nothing like the clunky Chitauri or the even match of a good ol' _human_ good guy/bad guy brawl. It gave Tony chills, being forced to watch it from this far away and unable to do anything but deal out a stream of information and warnings and gaps in the offense, seeing all the details he hadn't ever noticed before, like the strange ropes of melted flesh that solidified as they regenerated and the savage smiles that they flashed between blows.

"Clint, clear shot!" he burst out suddenly—an arrow was streaking in a fraction of a second, shooting beneath Thor's arm and straight through the monster's chest.

"Got it," Clint said flatly, pulling another arrow from his quiver. "One down, three to go."

"Good work, soldier," Steve offered breathlessly, punching another agent in the face and knocking her off of him just long enough for Clint to fire another volley straight through her chest. She choked and fell back, Steve prying her hands off of him, glowing orange handprints left in his suit where she'd held onto his throat. He gasped, forcing himself to stay still as the prints cooled, and Tony winced to see the livid red of the burns beneath. Those would scar badly on a normal man. Steve opened his eyes, turning to survey the area, glancing around for a few moments.

"Any other good plays, Tony?"

A twitch in the corner of the screen.

"Steve, look out!" Tony yelled, and the downed agent leapt to her feet, launching herself for Steve's throat hard enough to dent the shield and knock it clean out of his hand. Steve ducked, just in time to grab her legs and slam her to the ground. She snatched at him; he caught her wrist. Her other hand was still exposed, and Steve struggled as she locked her legs around him and ripped at his cowl. Reaching back to resume her handprints—

"Hawk!" Tony yelled. "_Now!_"

An arrow streaked just past Steve's ear and stood quivering in her chest. She choked again, Hawkeye's four arrows striking all of the vitals—"Steve, _move!_"

Steve scrambled back just in time to watch her melt into the same molten flesh from the chest out, leaving a gaping hole in her ribs and eyes glazed and unseeing when she finally fell limp in the street.

Steve was panting, and the comm was silent.

"The others down?" he asked, wincing as he turned his head.

"Not recovering, so I believe so," Thor answered, hefting Mjolnir and striding over to where Steve stood, almost in a sort of daze.

"Steven, are you alright?" Thor asked, and Steve nodded, though he was careful not to disturb the burns on his neck.

"I'm fine," he assured Thor, nodding stiffly and carefully pulling off what remained of the cowl. His hair was mussed and soaked from sweat, and he winced slightly as the suit peeled away from the handprints' outlines.

"We need to get you down to medical," Black Widow said, striding out from behind the wreckage of a building and glancing at it critically. "So much for keeping the fight contained," she muttered with a wry smile.

"I think we did pretty well," Steve shrugged defensively, then winced. Natasha shot him a knowing look, not unkindly.

"Medical. Now."

"Give the guy a second, Nat," Clint chipped in, chuckling. "He's just gonna heal in, like, an hour, anyway."

"A valid point," Thor shrugged.

"More like a couple days, actually," Steve winced as he bent to pick up his shield, casting another glance to their surroundings—quiet, save for the shrieking of sirens in the distance and the occasional settling of rubble.

"Stark, what's Bruce's status?" he asked, and Tony smirked.

"Inside the building right above you, I think," he chuckled, zooming in again. Sure enough, there the Hulk sat, curled up indian-style, with a distinct pout on his face. "Apparently he didn't like Steve getting hurt much."

Clint laughed, and Thor shook his head, while Natasha started gracefully up the pile of wreckage, reaching the second floor with ease and snorting quietly when she saw the Hulk sulking pointedly in the dark.

"Hulk, they're gone now, Steve is okay," she coaxed quietly, trying to bring the creature back out into the open. Tony burst out laughing when Hulk shook his head, crossing his arms and sitting back hard, like a toddler angry over having his toy taken away.

"Steve friend," he grunted. "Lava things hurt friend. Hulk not like lava things."

By now Tony was laughing hysterically, and Clint and Thor were practically doubled over, shaking with mirth. Steve was even chuckling under his breath.

"But the lava things are gone," Natasha said sweetly, backing away slowly and beckoning for the Hulk to follow her. "The lava things aren't going to hurt Steve anymore."

"Lava things not all gone," Hulk protested solidly. "Still more lava things in city."

The laughter fell silent, and for a moment there was a sinking quiet over the comm. There _were_ more 'lava things'; Tony knew when he'd destroyed the facility that there could easily be an entire army of Killian's freakish AIM agents lying in wait as ordinary people. Hulk knew. Hulk knew, just as well as Tony did.

Finally Steve drew a breath, breaking the eerie quiet. "How many more disturbances do you think we can expect from these things?" he asked, and the grave tone in his voice cast a pall over the tiniest thread of companionship they'd managed to gain in the past ten minutes.

Tony was silent for a moment, glaring at the screen.

"Just that one was too many, in my book," he finally said. "And there's absolutely no way to know how many of these things Killian created before the facility blew up. All the records were completely destroyed."

More silence, and again, Tony could feel goosebumps crawling over his skin.

After another few moments, the Avengers seemed to regain themselves, and Steve let out another breath. "Thor, would you mind keeping a lookout here until Bruce is back to himself again? You're relatively uninjured, and Natasha and I need to get to medical."

Thor nodded, whirling his hammer for a second and launching himself upward to sit beside the Hulk companionably. Tony switched his and Hulk's comm links to mute once he'd started a one-sided, though amicable conversation with the beast, shaking his head even in spite of himself. He had a feeling Thor would be appointed the designated Hulk-babysitter from this battle onward.

"Clint, manage the police. They're going to be here any minute now, so they're going to need someone telling them how to work their way around Bruce."

"Gotcha," Clint nodded, and Tony watched him begin his descent from his battle-perch.

"And Stark?" Steve's voice changed, turning slightly awkward. "Erm, thanks."

It took Tony a second to process that Captain America was actually thanking him for something, but he forced it into storage in the back of his brain, for later examination.

"Sure," he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Hey, when you escape medical, bring that shield down to the shop sometime and I'll fix the dent."

"Oh," Steve said after a second, sounding even more awkward, like he still couldn't quite figure Tony out. Tony wanted to kick himself. No one ever seemed to just be able to act normal around him. "Thanks."

"No problem; I need something to work on, anyway," he shrugged. "I'm turning off the comm link, guys, so get back here in a couple of hours or momma's gonna start to worry."

He didn't wait for a reply before yanking off the headset and telling JARVIS to pull the plug.

* * *

It was probably a week before Steve could pry all of the people from medical off of him (Coulson had done everything short of tying him up to get him to stay, even after he'd healed), but even by the time he'd managed to talk himself into heading down to Tony's workshop, he still felt like he was violating sacred ground.

It wasn't that he didn't want Tony's company—quite the opposite, in fact, as he'd been wanting to get to know him ever since the realization after the New York Thing that they'd simply started off on the wrong foot. It wasn't even the extensive technology that daunted him; if he was totally honest with himself, the only thing keeping Steve from paying Tony a visit was the man himself.

He simply didn't know what to make of Tony. He never quite knew what to say, or how to react. Outside of emergency situations, interactions with the genius turned him into nothing but a skinny kid from Brooklyn, all over again.

But when Steve finally did appear outside the workshop door, hesitating a few moments before he knocked, Tony greeted him with a half-smile, wiping the grease from his hands onto his pants.

"How's your neck?" he asked by way of greeting, and Steve shrugged, reaching up to feel the slight scarring left in the wake of the handprints.

"I'll be good as new in another day or so," he shrugged, and Tony grinned.

"Your handprint is programmed into the system, you know," he said, grabbing a rag from a nearby table. "JARVIS'll let you in."

"How'd you get my handprint?" Steve asked before the question could be stopped from leaving his mouth. He followed Tony inside, gazing around the sleek glass surfaces, spattered with grease and mechanical grime, a holographic display hovering in the far corner and closing with a snap of Tony's fingers. Steve hadn't gotten more than a glimpse of the project, but at first glance it looked like some sort of intricate building design.

Tony glanced at him over his shoulder, smirking slightly, but it wasn't taunting. "You're forgetting that I hacked all of SHIELD's secure files back before the New York Thing."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. Of course. "Yeah, forgot about that," he laughed under his breath. "Fury still hasn't found a way to lock you out again?"

"Hasn't even tried," Tony shrugged. "Must admit, I find it slightly strange that Nikky dearest hasn't sought revenge yet..."

As he spoke, Steve watched him stride over to a cluttered tabletop, carelessly clearing a space large enough to work with, closing down numerous projects and chucking various fragments of holograms into a virtual trash can. He glanced briefly at one of the oil-marked papers that lay scattered across the surface, quickly deeming it irrelevant and gathering the lot of them to crumple them and toss them into the actual trash. Steve watched in fascination, shifting from foot to foot occasionally in an attempt to disguise his awkwardness.

"Thought you said you didn't have anything to work on," he offered after a moment, still gazing around the workshop. Tony snorted.

"I don't," he shrugged, his back to Steve. His voice quieted slightly. "Nothing challenging, anyway. Nothing worth it."

Again, Steve was caught off-guard by the sudden, subtle shift in mood, unsure of what to say. "Is my shield really that interesting?" he asked awkwardly. Tony turned back to him, grin in place once again.

"Sure it is," he chuckled, gesturing for Steve to place the shield on the table as he crossed the room to heft a case of complicated-looking tools and drop it on the table with a grin. "I get to use power tools again."

Steve chuckled, backing away and watching as Tony flipped the shield over, carefully running blackened, calloused fingers over the dent. He watched for a minute in silence, then cleared his throat. "Erm, do you mind if I stay and watch you work?"

Tony seemed to weigh the situation for a moment, but then he nodded. "Yeah, sure, Rogers." He shot him another grin. "If you can put up with the noise."

"I'm sure I can manage," Steve smiled in return, starting back for the door. "Just let me get my sketchbook; I'll be back in a minute."

When he returned with pencil and paper in hand, Tony gestured wordlessly to the beat-up workshop couch, and Steve took a seat, discovering after only a few minutes that Tony's so-called 'noise' only really involved occasional slamming, the whine of a router, and frequent hissed swears.

He didn't get much sketching done; for the most part, Steve found himself content with watching Tony work. Perhaps the strangeness of the fascination should've occurred to him, but he found himself too absorbed in Tony's diligence to care. His face was a mask of sheer concentration, dark eyes full of life. His hands were even dirtier than before, blackened grime stuck beneath his nails and in the lines of his fingertips. Every time he ran a hand through his hair in frustration or thought, it grew messier and messier, standing out at odd angles and forcing Steve to hide a smile.

This was truly genius at work.

But after about half an hour, Steve looked up at the sound of the door sliding open, and Pepper's heels clopping on the floor.

"Oh, there you are," she said, sounding surprised, glancing between him and Tony, who greeted her with an absentminded mumble from around the wrench in his mouth. "Was I interrupting something?

Steve shook his head, closing his sketchbook and standing up. "No; I can leave if you—"

Pepper laughed. "No, Steve, it's just that I was surprised to find you down here. The other Avengers are going out for Chinese, if you're interested."

"Thanks," Steve said, shrugging and starting for the door. Tony didn't even look up.

He threw a glance at Pepper. "You or Tony want anything? I can get takeout..."

"He likes the spicy chicken," Pepper offered, patting Tony's shoulder. Steve couldn't help but notice the tiny flinch Tony gave at being touched. "I'm fine; I had a dinner meeting earlier."

"I'll bring back something," Steve said, starting for the door once again. Pepper's voice stopped him.

"Steve, thank you."

From the expression on her face, Steve felt like she was thanking him for something much more than Chinese takeout.

He nodded and left the workshop.

* * *

When he returned with two containers of carryout, Pepper was gone, and Tony had taken a spot on the couch, absently swirling ice cubes in the bottom of his tumbler. His shield was nowhere in sight, but Tony's explanation was instantaneous.

"The stars and stripes needed to be re-rendered, so JARVIS is finishing up work on that. It should be done by ten AM tomorrow."

Steve sat on the couch, carefully maintaining his distance as he he handed Tony his carton of chicken.

"Thank you, Tony," he said honestly, and Tony gave a half-smile.

"It's what I do," he shrugged. His carton was steaming, and he speared a piece of chicken on one chopstick, making Steve chuckle as he carefully blew on it. "What?" he asked, looking confused.

"Did you never learn to use chopsticks?" Steve asked, laughing. "I thought it was just me."

Now it was Tony's turn to laugh as he popped the piece of chicken into his mouth, shrugging. "Nope, my dad never cared, my mom was always busy, and my friends were for partying. We should get chopstick lessons from Pep."

Steve nodded, turning to his own container and leaning back into the couch, no longer self-conscious as he speared a piece of chicken.

Thankfully, the silence didn't last long before Tony opened his mouth again, and the stream of words only ever seemed to pause long enough for him to take a bite. Most of the techno-babble was completely incomprehensible to Steve, but he just sat and watched Tony, nodding and humming at what he hoped were the right points. The latest projects he was working on seemed, the way he put it, like 'kiddie stuff' compared to the Iron Man suit designs. And almost immediately upon hearing the words 'Iron Man', the guilt came creeping back.

"Erm, Tony, sorry about... last week."

Tony stopped talking, looking at him in surprise for a moment. "Um, okay? But you shouldn't have to apologize for the truth, because let's face it, everything you said was absolutely true and—"

Steve shook his head, cutting Tony off mid-sentence. He wasn't about to let Stark do this to himself. "No, it wasn't," he said firmly, shushing Tony when he opened his mouth to protest. Finally, he rolled his eyes and sighed, but pointedly kept his mouth shut.

The workshop was pleasantly silent in the absence of voices, Steve noticed, as the two of them sat quiet for the first time all evening. One minute; two. He'd lost count of the seconds by the time he spoke again.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asked quietly, and Tony froze.

"Um, probably... I_ think_ it was sometime three days ago?"

"You've been rambling," Steve said honestly, stopping his hand where it reached out to touch Tony's shoulder and the man flinched away—just as he had with Pepper. "Stark, you need to get some rest."

Tony sighed, rubbing his neck awkwardly and sinking into the couch. "You're gonna go all 'Star-Spangled-Man-With-a-Plan-to-Get-Me-to-Sleep' if I don't, aren't you?"

Steve tried to hide his amusement, watching Tony yawn widely. "Something like that."

"That plan better work, because mine sure as hell never does," he shrugged, getting up from the couch, throwing their takeout containers into the trash, and starting for the door.

"Go to bed, Tony," Steve called after him, chuckling as he closed his sketchbook and dug his pencil from the depths of the couch cushions.

He was satisfied to hear the door slide shut. When he retrieved the pencil and straightened up, it was to see Tony making his way up the steps with his hand stifling another yawn.


End file.
